


No news is not good news

by Balthuza



Category: Shards of the Sun
Genre: Family drama i suppose?, Fyr gets stuff, Gen, apparently too much stuff, but really slightly, flick is gonna be in sooo much trouble, sitting in a gnome chair is kinda like yoga only with food, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balthuza/pseuds/Balthuza
Summary: For a moment he did nothing, just stood there looking at the seal - the previous letter, barely a few words, a vaguely worrying question, was nothing like that. Dazed, with his hands almost shaking, he opened the front door and moved to the dining room.





	

Like many lately, this day did not start well. One of the elements of the worktable loosened up and needed recalibration and since Nil never became a member of the Guild, he couldn’t send a request for fine-tuning. In the end he had to let his father know he should make one, and this in turn served as a painful reminder of everything that went wrong in the last two months.

Then, there were people from the Academy asking him if there were any news (there weren’t) or if they could  _ borrow  _ something or other of hers since she didn’t need it right now (they couldn’t).

But the last straw was the bird that attacked him as soon as he approached their house. All he wanted to do is go home and mope, but the bird set out for him with speed and accuracy far greater than he’d expected. Instinctively, he swore and shielded his face with his arms, but the attack never came and when Nil’s brain caught up with what actually happened, he did feel a bit embarrassed. When he lowered his hands there was no trace of the bird, but there was something on the ground - a thick, creamy parchment with a symbol he helped design. 

Flick’s Arcane Mark wasn’t glowing as usual, but instead was a physical thing, pushed into the seal.

For a moment he did nothing, just stood there looking at the seal - the previous letter, barely a few words, a vaguely worrying question, was nothing like that. Dazed, with his hands almost shaking, he opened the front door and moved to the dining room, where an enormous, in length, not height, table filled over half of the room. With practiced ease he slipped into a chair, bent his legs to the side so they weren’t pressed uncomfortably into the tabletop and carefully pried open the seal, making sure not to break it. It was a letter this time - an actual letter, and Nil almost choked when he saw her handwriting - hand as sure as ever - fill almost an entire roll of parchment. 

‘Are you alright, love?’ He didn’t jump out of the chair only because that would be a physical impossibility. Without words he just waved the parchment at his mother. The moment she saw the seal, broken off and set aside, she was by his side, hollering for Steffit to get there this instant. After a moment of pushing and a quick discussion, they settled to read.

  
  


Ginabelle raised an eyebrow at the slightly panicky tone of the letter, and, few sentences later, at Nil, but he was far too engrossed in reading to notice. Steffit muttered “go big or go home” at the mention of a prince and snorted at the mention of a  _ willing kidnapping _ , but stayed silent otherwise. None of them acknowledged the possible accidental treason. All of them had to reread the last sentence at least twice to understand what she meant. Ginabelle narrowed her eyes, but kept reading.

  
  


Nil froze, feeling the fiery power of his mother’s glare at the side of his face.

‘The rest can wait’ she said with a false cheer that Nil knew was exactly how she sounded like half a minute before things started flying. He was vastly unprepared to have it aimed at him. ‘I think you should show us this portal she mentions.’

~~

It took Nil nearly the whole way to the cellar to explain the portal. Steffit seemed to find the whole thing a bit unnerving, but after marrying a wizard and raising another, he was resigned to his fate. Gin was looking friendlier by the minute. Nil tried to get out of her way as much as possible in a rather narrow corridor, with his head touching the ceiling every other step.

When they reached the door in one of the rarely-used parts of the cellar, they all they could hear was muttering, to quiet to recognize any words. Behind Ginabelle’s back Nilnan and Steffit shared a look, mentally preparing themselves for what was to come.

When Ginabelle opened the door slowly - caution born of a habit when one was dealing with the amount of magic she could clearly feel concentrated on the other side. Her first thought was that at least now she knew Flick did not in fact use up her ink as a bodypaint at one party or another. Then her attention was drawn along the runes (noticing some rather worrying combinations there) to the center, where a man was contorted into a strange position, levitating between two slightly glowing discs. 

The first thing she noticed was the amount of one-sided barrier spells waved into the whole contraption, obviously making sure it is safe to be around and for a moment she felt almost proud and curious, before willingly squashing it under anger, and below that, worry. 

The first thing Steffit noticed was that the half-elf seemed to try to make himself look vaguely presentable under their stares, even bent almost in half. 

The first thing Nilnan noticed was that this time the portal did not only consume shoes, but seemed to get one of the toes as well.

‘I am  _ so  _ sorry.’ Ginabelle was the first to move, making a step towards the portal, looking at the unexpected guest, but mentally classifying the runes and wondering what would be the safest way to remove him from the circle. 

‘I’m really sorry to impose, it was…’ The half-elf, looking mentally even more uncomfortable than physically, which Nil considered quite a feat, looked all over them.

‘Nonsense.’ Cut him Ginabelle. ‘Flick made it clear you are to be welcomed here.’ Unlike the newcomer, her son and her husband could see the spark of flames in her eyes when at the mention of her daughter’s name. ‘You’re Fyr, I presume?’

‘Yes ma’am. I’m sorry, but Flick only mentioned her brother’s name…’ 

‘Just “Fyr”?’ Gin raised one eyebrow at him. Fyr suddenly felt like he was ten again.

‘It’s Rolfyr Kelmaris, ma’am. But Fyr is fine.’

Steffit snorted. ‘Of course. That gem you can see here is my wife, Ginabelle. Gin is fine. Goes to your head better that dwarven mead before breakfast.’ She rolled her eyes, making sure Fyr wouldn’t notice. ‘I’m Steffit, the little she-devil’s you’re running around with father. And this is Nil, whom I’m sure you heard about more than he’d like you to.’

‘If you give me a moment, I’ll make sure we’ll get you out of this trap my dear daughter constructed, safely and in one piece.’ Gin looked him over again. Then she saw Fyr’s foot. ‘Nil, love? From what you’ve said I understood, the portal took Flick’s shoes last time? What happened to poor lad’s foot? Are you not telling me something?’

‘Oh, no, no, that’s not the portal!’ volunteered Fyr. ‘That was, uh, frostbite. A few days ago? It’s fine now, you don’t need to trouble yourself with that. It’s not Flick’s fault at all.’ As he was speaking, all three of them looked slowly from his face to the four-toed foot and then back again and he lost some confidence.

‘Did you only recently begin to travel with her or something?’ asked Nil trying to figure out the situation.

‘Um, no? It’s been a few weeks by now?’ Gin stopped walking in circles around Fyr and looked him in the face. With the way he was squashed, she didn’t even have to look up that much.

‘So, not only Flick failed to behave like an adult and inform us about her plans, but she also let  _ her friend _ get hurt because of something as trivial, as lack of proper attire? I’m going to have words with this child. Steffit, pull him by the legs.’ Without a moment of reflection Steffit grabbed Fyr by the legs and pulled, not only freeing his legs, but also spells’ hold on his whole body. After a second, where he was absolutely certain his head will crack on stone floor, Fyr realised that a surprisingly strong pair of small hands grabbed him by his new clothes, saving his head but creating small holes by the stitches. Gin looked at them with visible disapproval, but said nothing, instead letting go of Fyr’s shoulders to let him get up.

They all winced sympathetically when hearing the bones pop into proper place, and then again, when the sound of his skull hitting the ceiling seemed to be loud enough to echo around them.

Getting Fyr through the cellar was not an easy task. Where Nil habitually bent his knees just enough to avoid hitting every door frame on the way, Fyr, being over a foot taller, and used to rooms with ceilings much higher than that, began to almost miss the portal, with the way his head did not hurt then at all. For a moment, after his head hit the ceiling particularly hard, he felt as if he was stuck in the underdark once more, with surreal vision of two too-well dressed gnomes and a half-elf crawling through the darkness. When they emerged, Fyr could finally straighten up to his full height, if only barely. With a sigh he stopped himself from going for a full stretch right in front of the family. 

With a startling efficiency food was served, and Fyr had to face another problem. Nil would be more sympathetic, but was too busy being silently glad somebody finally understood his pain. 

‘No, look. If you just bend your legs like that…’ explained Nilnan once more. Fyr watched him smoothly slid into the lowest chair he’s ever seen and then out again. ‘Mother and dad are finding you something to sit on right now, but it still won’t change much. Just… Think of it like crawling, maybe?’ Fyr tried not to look doubtful, but he failed to see the connection. He tried to repeat Nil’s movements. Ten minutes later they gave up and decided maybe it’ll be safer to have him sit with his legs crossed under the table. Still wheezing a bit after Fyr’s last try at sitting properly, Nil decided to send a word to make sure Fyr’s chair wouldn’t have any armrests, just to be sure they won’t have to pry him out of a chair after every meal. 

~~

Within an hour Fyr, well-fed and still reeling a bit from the vaguely embarrassing idea of having not one, but two chairs being made for him (although, as Gin explained, since the carvings were a time-consuming detail, the  _ proper chair  _ would arrive only late afternoon the next day, “ _ so _ sorry about that”) looked with some distaste at his dirty clothes, but only sighed in the end  - they were, no matter what Flick said, still a nice quality set, even if a bit dirty by now. Also, they were violet, so that was good too. 

Having a moment to himself, he looked around. The ceiling here was over a foot above his head, which in comparison to the cellar seemed extravagantly high. Even if Nil did not inform him beforehand that he would be staying in Flick’s room (“Guest rooms are nice, but well. You are her friend, and since it’s empty anyway right now…”), he would realise the moment he made a terrible mistake of opening what he supposed was her closet. The sheer amount of  _ stuff  _ that threatened to rush down in an avalanche right at him would plague his dreams for the days to come. For a moment, after he managed to close it again, he felt like putting a chair or something there to assure it stayed locked, but in the end decided against it - still, every now and then he would throw the innocent-looking doors a look, just to make sure they were closed still. 

Other than the closet, the rest of the room was rather tidy. Along two walls ran shelves, filled with scrolls, jewellery, finished or not, and other odds and ends. On both sides of the door stood massive bookcases (and a chair, apparently to reach books higher up), some titles hazily familiar, others in scripts that made Fyr’s head hurt a little more just looking at them. Somewhere by his knee there was a series of books with unmarked spines - leather of the covers all dyed brilliant colors. Pulling one of them out, this one bright violet with silver corners, he opened it at random page. A complicated set of calculations and technical drawings filled the pages, sometimes paired with a drop of metal or a shred of a gem attached to the parchment. With some difficulty, Fyr fitted the book back into its slot. The middle of the room was filled by a large bed - Fyr with some amusement (and embarrassment) compared mentally the Flick’s size to the bed’s, getting some frankly unsettling results. Then he shrugged, realising the bed was still probably a billion times cleaner than what they were sleeping on on the road. Knowing better after the closet nearly ambushed him, he left the large chest in the foot of the bed well alone.

Behind the bed - with barely enough space for Fyr to fit, was a desk set right by the window, taking full advantage of the light of day. Right now, a while Fyr’s biological clock was pointing to an evening already, the sun was still in the sky. The street below him wasn’t empty, but the shops he could see were either closed already, or getting there. 

‘You ready?’ Nil knocked at the door gently, ignoring the deja vu punching him in the solar plexus. He smiled weakly when Fyr opened the door and led him downstairs without a word, only turning to him when they entered the living room. There also few candles lit, large windows filling the room with light. In the back, apart from Flick’s parents, was a small group of people. Fyr’s stomach tightened, but he managed a smile.

‘Oh, you are here already, wonderful!’ Gin turned to him with no indication how she knew they arrived. In her hand there was a tall wine glass, swirling softly, filled with a clear, orange liquid. In a flash, attention on the whole room concentrated on her as she made her way to where Fyr and Nil stood, giving her son a slightly concerned look when she noticed he looked a little pale. ‘Our friends graciously agreed to make a home call for you. They’re thrilled to meet you’ she said grabbing Fyr by the wrist and pulling him towards the crowd that, on average, reached his waist. While most of them were gnomes, there was an odd dwarf or two there as well. ‘What do you think?’ she turned to Fyr. ‘Clothes first?’ Without waiting for an answer she beckoned at one of the gnomes. A plump, middle aged man with an impressive moustache surprisingly deftly moved to the front and bent in a complicated bow.

‘Sparkwitz Lusterboomer, at your service. The finest tailor in the city.’ He raised an eyebrow at Fyr’s clothes. ‘From what I gathered, you are… Flickholm’s friend…?’ he looked unsure for a second. Fyr went red. Nil got some color back in his face. Steffit snorted. Gin raised both of her eyebrows. 

‘ _ Mr. Lusterboomer _ ’ began Ginabelle, her voice suddenly warm. ‘I’m sure if you want we can talk later, but right now there are perhaps other matters at hand, yes?’ 

‘There’s really no need’ Fyr finally snapped out of his shock. ‘Really. Flick already took me shopping…’ he stopped, confronted with a room-full of doubtful stares. 

‘Flickholm went shopping with you?’ asked Steffit, voicing what apparently was on everybody’s minds. ‘And bought… this?’

‘Well, no, there was little time she left us some money, and…’ Fyr accidentally touched his pocket, and, feeling the oblong shape of a rock suddenly remembered the gift he was supposed to pass on her behalf. ‘Oh, right, sorry.’ Pulling the badly wrapped rock from his pocket he offered it to Nil. ‘It’s for you. She bought it at the Festival.’ He remembered the lollipop but decided not to mention it at all.

Bemused, Nil unpacked the rock, which still glowed slightly, smooth under his fingers. He closed his palm. ‘Thank you.’ Then he saw the message on the wrapper and showed it to his mother. One corner of her mouth lifted. 

‘Well, either way, you need some clothes. And shoes. Just to make sure this kind of an unfortunate accident,’ she looked meaningfully at his four-fingered foot, covered only in a thick sock right now, ‘does not happen again.’ Fyr’s shoulders sagged when he realised over a half of people around him had stools of varying heights and the other half was holding measuring tapes and different scraps of fabrics and leather. 

Herded into the middle of the room and positioned to the liking of whoever was measuring him right now, he froze and swallowed when he caught a passing mention of just how much money were to change hands this day. When Nil caught his guilt filled expression, misreading it entirely he expertly maneuvered between the tapes and the gnomes, and patted Fyr gently on his arm.

‘Don’t worry, we will take good care of you.’

~~

When Fyr was finally deemed free from the tailors and shoemakers, and somehow managed to eat dinner on the  _ sub-par  _ chair, he was both grateful and increasingly guilty when he found a tub that was obviously far too large for any gnome, filled with steaming water. Next to it was a generous piece of soap, green and smelling intensely of herbs and forest. Ignoring the little voice in his head telling him he’s being ungrateful, Fyr reached to his pack, and feeling a little bit better when the familiar smell enveloped him. The piece of soap left was sadly small at this point, but it still smelled like home. 

Tired as he was, it took him a while to realise the room was still full of sunshine. 

Finishing his bath he resolved to ask somebody what to do with it, he moved closer to the window, watching the now almost-empty, but still sunlit street with some confusion. The voices downstairs subsided by now, and he felt a little grateful for that, followed by a wave of guilt towards the family that, he believed, honestly wanted to help. He tried to protest once more before he left the living room that it was way too much for just him, but was gently escorted to Flick’s room, with assurances that this is nothing out of ordinary.

He disagreed. 

Tired, but determined, he put on his old clothes, and opened the door to find somebody to talk about the used bath and maybe about how much stuff a single person needs, but as soon as he opened the doors, few things happened. 

One, the bath lifted in the air, as if carried by somebody invisible, and, as soon as he stepped out of the way, floated jerkily to the end of the corridor and disappeared from his sight. Two, a ribbon-bound pack of fabric landed gently by his feet, with a piece of parchment on top. Three, curtains, previously hidden by the shelves, drew close, covering the room in darkness, while the doors closed themselves,and a single candle by the bed lit itself.

He picked up the parchment and straightened it out. 

~~

When he woke up the next day, in his (he had to admit it) extremely comfortable new pyjamas, it took him a second to remember everything that happened yesterday. He groaned quietly. The room was still dark, the bed warm and cozy and, until the knocking repeated, he had no idea what woke him up. 

Embarrassed about sleeping in, Fyr unwound the cocoon of blankets he created and opened the door. On the other side Nil was fully dressed up, with not a hair out of place, looking a bit startled. Fyr remembered Flick’s remark about his hair and uselessly tried to fix them. Nil only smiled, looking a bit forced. Fyr felt even worse. 

‘I’m sorry did I wake you up? A… force of habit. I’m sorry, feel free to sleep in?’ Nil said, a bit sheepish. ‘Although’ he looked at Fyr’s pyjamas. ‘I’m sure at least some of your clothes and shoes should’ve arrived by now.’ Only now looking at his attire, Fyr realised they were a deep teal colour with white accents, the fabric looked smooth but was surprisingly warm. The voice of guilt in the back of his head offered that back in the day he could probably buy a month’s worth of food for the fabric alone. Nil, seeing his uncertainty smiled again, more naturally this time. ‘It’s still quite early. But there will be breakfast if you are hungry?’

‘Thank you, that would be good,’ remembered to answer Fyr, dealing with a new wave of guilt.

Eating in a affable silence, Fyr managed to push the guilt aside a bit. Enough to even offer a story or two about what happened to them between Flick disappeared from home and he arrived in the basement. At first he tried to hide the more gruesome facts, like Flick’s gleeful divination from dead bodies, but Nil called him out on the half-truths easily. In the end, full and in much better mood than yesterday, Fyr told a far closer to truth account of what happened, concentrating of Flick and ignoring things he would prefer not to reach her ears. 

When an elf walked into the dining room and smacked her mouth loudly he jumped and hit the tabletop hard enough to almost spill his and Nil’s teas.

She did not look impressed. 

‘Well, that’s a nice nest you’ve got there. You get post often?’ The comment seemed to be aimed more at his hair than at him. Nil snorted and slithered out of his chair.

‘Have fun!’ was his whole, absolutely unhelpful from Fyr’s point of view, input into the conversation.

‘I am Gaylia Thenice, the best hairdresser in this damned city, and I bring you a gift of beauty. We need to talk about conditioners. Do you have something to take notes at?’

 

Fyr regretted failing at Nil’s lessons about crawling out of the chair.

 

~~

Nil passed the door to Flick’s room, left slightly ajar and clenched his jaw. Putting Flick’s friend in her room, making it  _ lived in _ again seemed to be a great idea at first. He wasn’t so sure now, but the man himself seemed nice enough. It was clear why Flick liked him so. He locked the door gently and moved on to his room, the smooth stone in his pocket warm from his fingers.


End file.
